Shadows Rising
by Tom O'Bedlam
Summary: Regulus Black grows up in a world where lines are already drawn for the battle, and shadows of war loom. Vignettes.
1. French Tips

_**(A/N)** Because Regulus will not get out of my head. I apologize to the six people who want more Narcissa. It will happen, I promise. And my complete neglect of fanfiction can be blamed jointly on the evil computer demons, who've infected my machine; and my physics teacher, who thinks I should actually learn physics. Please review if you've time. I'm trying to produce a series of drabbles the fill in the character gaps in Through Shadows Falling, and I want to be sure my characterization actually makes sense._

Regulus Black, age eight, took his courage in his hands and pushed open the door to the Green Room. He had been sent by his mother to fetch his cousins for dinner, and he knew Bellatrix, at least, was in the Green Room. He could hear her all the way down the hall. He could also hear his brother, shouting back nearly as loudly.

Peering around the door, Regulus first saw his cousin Andromeda, curled in one of the huge winged armchairs, mahogany and forest green brocade, by the granite fireplace, with a book firmly between her and the two combatants. Regulus's mother would have had a fit had she seen her niece coiled in such an unladylike position. Andromeda was nearly fifteen, and must learn act as benefited a Black. Of course, had Regulus's mother been in the room, she would have been too concerned with her son's disrespect to his cousin to notice her other niece. Inching a little further around the door, Regulus saw Sirius and Bella. In the center of the room, a big ten-year-old boy with thick black hair and hot gray eyes screamed up at a similarly dark-haired and sharp-faced Valkyrie. Bella, forgetting all of the sophistication and superiority she'd cultivated since she'd started school, screamed right back. Neither of them noticed Regulus.

"What is it?" The voice came from the window-seat behind Bella and Sirius. Cousin Narcissa, only five years older than Regulus, but already almost at beautiful as Bella, sat, correctly, in the wide brocade-draped window meticulously painting her smooth nails. Screwing the top on the nail polish bottle, she blew on her nails and rose. Completely ignoring the full-scale shouting match in the middle of the room, she looked at Regulus and repeated the question with a touch of exasperation.

"Dinner." Regulus managed to insert the comment into the second when both combatants were pausing for breath, and fled.


	2. Black Christmas

_**(A/N)** Okay, so this isn't really a drabble, but it just kept growing. Gwendolyn Lennox appears, courtesy of Thessaly (thank you for reviewing). Most of this isn't mine; if it were I'd actually be publishing it. Please review. I want to know if my characters make any sort of sense._

Regulus Black, age eleven, slouched next to his Cousin Andromeda, and considered his Christmas dinner in silence. Gwendolyn Lennox was on his other side, and he was utterly terrified of her, so he thought it safest not to say anything. Besides, Andra was still sunk in misery from her mother's latest scold, and Gwendolyn was talking to Evelyn Parkinson on her other side. Stifling a yawn, Regulus wondered when the meat course would arrive. To think he'd looked forward to graduating the children's table! The grown-up were so slow, and dull beyond belief.

Finally, ages later, Regulus was sure, they were permitted to escape, but only to the sitting room. For half an hour at least his mother kept him close by, forcing him to admire the pretty picture made by his cousins and to actually attend to their music. Andromeda, no longer sulking, but now vexed at being put on show, as she would say, like a dancing dog, was at the piano, framed and dwarfed by her sisters. Narcissa sat on a high stool, French tipped fingers on ready at her harp, golden and white and almost glowing in the candlelight. Bella stood on the other side, tall, striking, and so very grown-up. Her eyes flicked to pick out a boy in the crowd, and craning a little before his mother pulled him back, Regulus caught a glimpse of Lucius Malfoy returning the notice.

After escaping his mother, Regulus crept up to the attic to hide. By now the adults should be interested enough in their own affairs to ignore his disappearance. Curling up on top of the dust cover of one of the old chairs, he poked randomly through one of the near-by trunks. This one was from the eighteen hundreds, he thought, full of old lace and calling cards. It didn't have a false bottom, strangely enough; most of the Blacks planned for any sort of subterfuge. A very dull box. He'd just resettled the lid in place when he heard voices on the stairway. Stiffening, Regulus waited for them to pass.

They didn't. The door opened and Andra entered carrying a lighted candle. Narcissa, much to Regulus' surprise, followed. Narcissa and Andromeda had always been closer to each other than either was to Bellatrix, but that had never made them friends. "I told you he'd be here," Andra said, plopping onto another ghostly sheet-covered sofa and looking back at her younger sister. "Well, sit down."

Narcissa looked disdainfully at the dust covers, then carefully cleaned a stool with her handkerchief and sat on the very edge of it. "It's not that bad," Regulus muttered, oddly ashamed of the dust. "Mother does come up here occasionally."

Andromeda rolled her eyes and said, "I don't think I've ever had a duller Christmas. How have you been, Regulus? I barely ever see you at school."

Regulus opened his mouth to reply and found himself unable to stop a yawn. Embarrassed, he ducked his head and managed to say, "Tired. My roommates at school never stop gabbling."

Andromeda laughed, a warm kindly laugh, and suggested spelling his bed curtains to keep noise out. Narcissa said, in a bored tone of voice intended to indicate her complete disinterest in the affairs, that she remembered coming across a spell Andra might be able to modify.

No one was in the library. Narcissa found the book again, but informed Andra rather shortly that she couldn't be expected to do everything. So Andra found the spell in the end and read it through, explaining the archaic language to Regulus as he hung over her shoulder. Then they set about modifying it. Changing spells was a delicate business, and something teachers actively discouraged at Hogwarts, but the Black children knew that Hogwarts spells were derivations of the Old Magic, and that if you went back to that, changing the meaning was possible, if the theory behind the particular magic was understood. Andra had learnt theory because it was something to do, and Regulus and Narcissa had learnt a smattering of it from her.

In the end, they tested it on one of Regulus' handkerchiefs. It turned out that a drop of Regulus' blood was needed to activate the spell the first time. When she figured that out, Andromeda had tried to get the others to stop, but they were both too interested by then and scoffed at her scruples. It worked to perfection. When Regulus hung the handkerchief over his head, he couldn't hear a word the other two said.

They were still laughing when they heard the click of heels outside the library door. Regulus was lying half across Andra's lap, handkerchief over one ear and Narcissa tickled his neck with her quill. By the time Regulus' mother entered the library, the three cousins sat around the table quietly discussing Regulus' schoolwork.

"So this is where you're all hiding," Mrs. Black snapped. "Andromeda, your mother wants you. Narcissa, Bellatrix was looking for you. Regulus Black, it's past your bedtime and you know it."

Andra and Narcissa slipped quietly out of the room, and Regulus allowed his mother to pull him off to his room with a meek, "Yes, Mama."


	3. Dog Star

_**(A/N)** I'm just going to blithely continue this even though I have only two reviewers (thank you Wryn Flint and Thessaly) because Regulus will not get out of my head._

Regulus Black, age thirteen, stared out of his window at the stars, going through their names in his head. He was the only one in his year who had gotten full marks on every astronomy exam, and he never studied. Each star up there was a name and a face and a history. Cousin Andromeda, Cousin Bellatrix, Second Cousin Altair, First Cousin Once Removed Polaris, Great-Great Aunt Capella. Sirius. It was an odd way to mourn his brother, to sit and stare at the sky. Sirius had always hated sitting still, and had never been much of a stargazer either. Sirius had been one to get things done, and laugh while he was at it. He could talk you into things you'd never think of doing on your own, then talk you out of trouble afterwards.

He had been able to. Past tense. Sirius Nigellus Black had died that morning, so far as his family was concerned. He'd run away, abandoning a privileged life as a proper Black to live with his mudblood muggle-loving friends. When Mrs. Black had found her son's note, she'd grabbed Regulus' arm and dragged him to the upstairs parlor, shoving him into one of the black horsehair chairs with more force than she usually used on Kreacher. Huddled there, Regulus watched as she approached the Family Tree, a tree of stars held together in odd constellations that didn't match the ones he saw in the sky at night. Here and there in the odd patterns were supernovas, spiky and burnt at the edges, black as soot rather than silk thread, where a name and a star were obscured. Sometimes Regulus had sat in this room, studying the family history there on the wall, remembering the names and deeds of his ancestors, giving them what immortality and love he could, and sometimes wondering about the ones who were burnt out. What had they done to get that way? Who had they been? What had meant to do?

"Look, you!" Mrs. Black shrieked, calling Regulus' attention to the newest burnt mark, right next to his name, so close the a trail of soot split the R in half. "Do you see? Do you understand?"

Yes, Regulus understood. Sirius was dead, a supernova, gone and forgotten, a name no child would ever sit and study and wonder about, just another spot of soot on the wall. "Yes, Mama. I understand."

He accepted the implicit agreement in that statement. He would never be Sirius, never recognize him as a brother, never ever love him like he was Family. Not that Sirius had ever been a loving brother. Ever since he'd gone off to Hogwarts and been Sorted into Gryffindor, their mother had made a pet of Regulus. By the time Sirius was home again, more moody and abrasive than ever, Regulus, young enough that he still believed his mother implicitly, hated his brother. And that hate was returned tenfold when, two years later, Regulus was Sorted into Slytherin, like a good Black.

Ever since then, all Regulus' memories featured Sirius shouting, Sirius sulking, Sirius scowling. In only one did his brother smile, and that was when Regulus had, just once, caught sight of Sirius alone with his friends, laughing at some joke. Then Sirius had seen his brother and the laugh morphed in a scowl, a shout of "What'd you think you're looking at?" before Regulus could duck out of sight.

Ranging his mind back, Regulus searched for some memory, any memory, before they hated each other. Finally it came. It was fuzzy, more an impression than a memory. Just the light of bright sun in a green garden and the feeling of hands helping him up. And a high child's voice crying, "Look, Baby, you got half way across!"

It would have to do. Letting the memory float out into the night Regulus sat vigil for his brother. Tomorrow, he wouldn't have a brother, would never have had a brother, would never have known anyone named Sirius Nigellus Black. But tonight, just for tonight, he would watch the brightest star flicker in the sky and remember a name and a face and a history.


	4. Old Magic

_**(A/N)** I told you Regulus won't get out of my head. Thank you, Thessaly, for that Strunk and White reference; I'll take it into account. Thank you everyone for reviewing. No more philosophy, sorry, I actually do have the slightest bit of plot I want to get across, and I don't think Regulus is a particularly philosophical boy._

Regulus Black, age fourteen, shifted from foot to foot in the doorway to the dungeon room while he waited for Severus Snape to turn from his precious potions. The air was damp and heavy with the fumes from the cauldrons. Sniffing, Regulus was sure he could smell boomslang skin, myrrh, and what he thought was mandrake root. The scented smog was everywhere, filling the room from the scrubbed and sanded floor to the scrupulously clean ceilings. In the mist, a thin figure stooped over a bubbling cauldron like the evil fairy in a children's story, expertly flicking hairs into the potion The only light came from fire under the cauldron; this hidden room was far enough below the Slytherin common room that no light ever reached it, even through the vent shafts. Slytherin lore said that Lucius Malfoy had found it his first year and, with his cousin Julia, turned it into a very secret workshop for those interested in the Old Magic, what the other students called the Dark Arts. It was now the undisputed domain of Severus Snape: greasy, ugly, and antisocial but the best, everyone agreed, at hexes and potions. And Old Magic.

When Snape finally turned, Regulus wondered if it mightn't have been brighter to try and figure things out on his own. Lank hair hanging around a thin scowling face, Snape looked anything but pleased by the interruption.

"What do you want?" Snape snarled, raking Regulus from toes to head and back again with a quick, disdainful glare.

"The others-I mean, I heard-I mean-" Regulus paused, swallowed and said, all in a rush, "They say that you know more than anyone about the Old Magic and I wanted to know if you'd show me."

Snape looked more sardonic than ever. "And why should I do that?"

Regulus swallowed again under the sarcastic black eyes but to make his point as firmly as he could, "Because I want to know, and if you don't teach me, I'll likely blow myself up and Dumbledore will suddenly notice all your experiments. And because if you don't teach anyone, no one will remember the Old Magic anymore."

Snape snorted and turned back to his cauldron. Taking this as an invitation, Regulus wandered over to the ancient spell book resting on an old music stand and peered at the squiggling, slanted minuscule writing, trying to remember everything Cousin Andromeda-everything he had been taught about understanding the old texts. When he was fairly sure he had it, he peered at the ingredients Snape had used, trying understand the reasons for the substitutions and adjustments. Finally baffled, he turned to his new mentor asked, a little nervously, "I can see putting in cat fur instead of kneazle hair if Slug won't let you use the school store, but why use frankincense instead of olive oil?"


	5. Shadow Lord

_**(A/N)** Okay, it's official. I've never once had a story that wanted to be written this much. Though I may not appear to need it in this case, feeding the author is still a Good Thing._

Regulus Black, age sixteen, stood as tall as he could before the Dark Lord, waiting with his yearmates for the honor of the Dark Mark. Even with his chin up and his back as straight as it could be, he still only came up to Evelyn Parkinson's shoulder. I am a Black, he reminded himself firmly. The Black. I don't need to prove myself, and I don't need to be taller because I know ten times more than that oaf about Old Magic and how to use it, and that's what He really needs.

Doubts surged behind the proud thoughts of the heir of the Black, but Regulus ruthlessly supressed them; forcing them below the level of consciousness, allowing his mind to run through the things Bella had said when she'd first met the Dark Lord, allowing her fanaticism to completely overwhelm his less certain faith. When the Dark Lord looked into his eyes, Regulus looked back, as proud and certain of his place as his cousin had been all those years before.

"Black," He hissed, eyes holding Regulus still. "Your cousin serves well, but your brother serves our enemies well. How will I know with you?"

"I have no brother," Regulus replied. "I am Regulus Black, son of Orion Black, and his only son and heir. I am here because I believe in the Old Magic, and the purity of our world. I am here to serve you, body and soul, in your quest."

Bella's words, almost exactly what she had said when Narcissa had asked why she, a Black, would follow this man. And because they were Bella's words, Regulus said them like she would have, clear and cutting, looking her Master in the eye. And because he didn't break the gaze, and because he'd felt his father sort through his thoughts before, Regulus knew the Dark Lord was in his head investigating his beliefs. Then it was over. The Dark Lord looked away speaking to the other candidates, demanding their credentials. Shivering a little, Regulus wondered how He hadn't murdered him on the spot. Couldn't He see the doubts and worries, fears and cowardice that filled his mind? But the memories Regulus had recognized as the Dark Lord had sorted through them had all been doubtless, fearless, submerged so far into Bella's fanaticism they didn't seem anything but fanatic.

"Regulus Black, son of Orion Black. Come here." The Dark Lord hissed as he spoke, and the light globe he had created glittered eerily off his eyes. Regulus came forward, extending his arm. An almost gleeful expression on his face, the Dark Lord touched His wand to Regulus's arm. Regulus recognized the expression half a second before the pain hit. The expression was Bellatrix's, just before she broke Narcissa's favorite doll, just before she slapped Andra so hard she screamed, just before she told Regulus's mother that he had sassed her. Before he had time to call out or pull his arm away, his world was pain, spreading in an instant from his forearm throughout his body. He collapsed at the Dark Lord's feet, nerves protesting so much he was unable to stand.

He didn't scream. It wasn't because he remembered where he was and how dangerous screaming would be, because he didn't. It wasn't because he knew Bella wouldn't scream, because she would have. Anyone would. It was his father's voice, his father's face behind the huge maghogony desk, the day after Sirius left. The coldness in his father eyes and voice when he said, "You are my heir. You will act accordingly or you will not be considered worthy. Be worthy of being a Black, Regulus. Be worthy. You know that you are nothing without a name." A proper Black wouldn't scream. Regulus admitted not a wimper, though he bit through his bottom lip.

It was Snape who came forward to pull him out of the Dark Lord's way. Regulus could tell by the faint scent of potions that clung to his mentor's clothes. "You did well." It was a whisper of a voice over his head as Snape slapped him to make sure he was conscious. Evelyn Parkingson began to scream.


	6. The Human Impulse

_**(A/N)**Much of the philosophy found in this chapter belongs to Orson Scott Card, but it's applicable to my Regulus, so here it is. This is me begging on my knees for reviews, by the way, both here and for Decorum and Tranquility. Please, please give feedback._

Regulus Black, aged seventeen, watched a glittering crowd of partygoers and wished desperately for the dark and dismal room of smelly potions, for the sardonic presence of Severus Snape, even for the constant scrubbing required to keep the slimy walls mold-free. His target, Theseus Clearwater, was flirting with Cassandra Austin across the room, cheerful and carefree, unaware that one unhappy boy was making an utterly complete study of his life and interests and opinions, getting to know him better and better, until the one fact came out, the fact that mattered.

It was so close to the soul, that definition of loyalty. To get there, you had to go through loves and hates and family jokes and school feuds and petty dislikes. You had to go through people and place and ideas and things that really mattered, or ought to matter. You had to know a person inside and outside before you knew what they were loyal to, and by the time you knew someone that well, there was no way you could hate them, no way you could believe they were truly evil, truly in the wrong.

At least that was what Regulus found. He'd watched Cousin Narcissa waft through fashionable London, picking up information and emotions and dirty secrets with the ease she did everything, simply by not caring. I'm not Bella, that people will tell me things out of fear, Regulus sometimes wanted to yell. I'm not Sirius, who people tell things out of friendship. And I'm not Narcissa, who just knows things. I'm only one person, one unnoticeable person, with no particular notion of who I am and what I do. I have to know you, as a person. I have to know you completely before I know what I need to about you.

Now he knew Theseus Clearwater, in and out. He knew that as a child, Theseus had been ignored by uncaring parents, so his education had fallen to a nutty muggle-loving aunt. He knew that Theseus, no matter how much he flirted here and there, was completely in love with Narcissa Black, even though she was as good as engaged to Lucius Malfoy. He knew that Theseus, regardless of upbringing, had joined the Death Eaters because he wanted to, and the blood-traitor aunt's rejection had hurt him badly. He knew that the same Narcissa Black had said not a word to Theseus in a month, and it grated. He knew that Theseus was at heart a coward, and had never said no to his parents. He knew that Theseus's older brother, who Theseus thought the world of, was an Auror, and hated the Death Eaters. Regulus knew all these things about Theseus Clearwater, and more. Together they painted a picture Regulus understood, someone he could have been if his life had been different.

A day later, Regulus stood before the Dark Lord and made his report. That night Theseus Clearwater died.


	7. Leather Books

_**(A/N)** Finally. I've been trying to write this for nearly a month now, and it would not work. Feedback would be heavenly. Feed the author. Please? She's beginning to get rather peckish._

Regulus Black, aged eighteen, stood warily in the doorway of his father's study. Not that Orion Black was there; if he had been, Regulus most certainly would not have. But the study was frightening even without it's occupant. It was on the second floor hallway, so that if the door were open, Mr. Black could watch everyone who came up or went down the stairs. It was the darkest room in a gloomy house, the only window cowed and covered by thick brocade drapes, so the old drippy candles were the only possible light source. The candles in Mr. Black's study always dripped, because Kreacher wouldn't crap them like he did all the others in the household. Mrs. Black, in the general way, would not tolerate wax dripped on her Persian carpets. But Mrs. Black had no dominion here. This was her husband's domain, which he ruled as surely as he ruled the account books.

But Orion Black was injured, now, and for the first time in his life, Regulus actually entered his father's study without a direct order to do so. He wasn't sure why he wanted to do so, except that there was so much information to be found here that he might never see otherwise. The walls were covered with dark, heavy bookcases, full of crumbling leather volumes bound up in gold and jewels and curses. This was, as far as Regulus knew, the largest and most complete collection of books of Dark Magic in England, maybe in the world.

So Regulus searched through his father's library, carefully noting where all the books went as he removed them. Then he went to his father's great roll-top desk and sat, even more carefully on the edge of the chair. He hated to read here; it was even more frightening than creeping to the Restricted Section of the library, because Hogwarts was a big place and Grimmauld Place was not and Mr. Black, injured or not, would be on top of Regulus before you could say "Toujours Pur" if he knew that his son was in his study.

He stayed the entire afternoon, reading books and treatises and grimmeries and stories, learning more than he ever had before of the origins of the Old Magic. How Severus Snape would love this library. Regulus thought it amazing enough, because he learned that afternoon, among the blood and vengeance and rights of the Old Magic, where the Crucius curse came from, and how it was related to Imperius and he thought that, if he had several months and could keep this book to study from, he might be able to create a perfect command spell, one that could be used to make anything do anything, perhaps even an algorithm for magic in general. It was a fascinating concept.

The last book Regulus read was called, simply, _Immortality_. The Dark Lord would love to have this book, and Regulus tried not to notice anything particular about it. The last chapter was on Horcruxes. Regulus read it with the same detached interest that he had read the rest of the chapters, as a dissertation on magic best left forgotten in the practical world. Then slowly, it dawned. Regulus reread the chapter on Horcruxes, imbedding each word in his mind. Memory was not a Black trait, but Regulus possessed it anyway. He thought that perhaps it was because he had no particular driving force, so his mind was empty enough to collect all those extraneous details his cousins didn't care about.

Then he closed the book and began putting all of them away, exactly as he'd found them, his mind busy else ware, in a strange and frightening cave, charming Incubi and watching Snape brew a particular poison from the oldest spellbook the Lord possessed. The book had been burned after, and Regulus had regretted the fact at the time.

So the old locket is a sliver of His soul, Regulus thought as he closed the door of his father's study and went downstairs for dinner. Interesting.


	8. Kinslaying

_**(A/N)** Sorry for the hiatus; life interfered. Thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed. This was the hardest chapter I think I've ever written, and I'm still not sure I like it. For anyone interested, this scene takes place just before Regulus has tea with Narcissa, the flashback is before the ball, and the last bit (flashforward?) is a few days later._

Regulus Black, aged eighteen, paced in front of the tapestry in Grimmauld Place. His ancestors watched disinterestedly. They knew what Regulus ought to do, and they knew that he would, eventually. They didn't care how hard it would be.

_"Regulus Black, I want you to kill a man."_

_"Yes, Master. Who?" Regulus was surprised, though he wouldn't let it show. He hadn't been sent on one of these tasks since he first joined. The Dark Lord had other uses for an intelligent and observant son of the Blacks._

_"Sirius Black."_

_Regulus choked, but managed to bow. What would Bella say? What would Bella do? It was his mantra, always, when in the presence of his master, and usually it was enough. "May I leave at once, Master? It will take time."_

It would take time, thank God. That meant he had time. Time to do the unthinkable. Regulus shied away from the thought, but it persisted. He could not kill Sirius. Murder he could, and had, committed. Libel, torture, any evil demanded him, he could carry out in the interests of purity of blood and of his family. But kinslaying was the one utterly unforgivable evil. He could not kill his brother, even his disinherited brother.

So he was going to die. That, he supposed, was overdue by eighteen years; no one would particularly miss him when he was gone. Still, he thought glancing at the tapestry, they would remember. His name, the R cut in half by a trail of soot, still remained.

---------------------------------

Regulus knew who was in his flat even before he opened the door. And he knew, of course, why she was there. He hadn't expected it to be her, but…


	9. Forgetmenot

_**(A/N)**An epilogue, to make up for the severe lack of anything for the past month or two. This is end, finally._

Regulus Black, ageless now, was laid to rest in the Black family plot, still part of the constellations he had learned and loved and, in the end, died for. Bellatrix Lestrange was not there; she was already in Azkaban. Andromeda Tonks was not there; she was working overtime at the Ministry research lab that had finally hired her. Sirius Black was not there; he was getting drunk with his chosen friends and brothers, and trying to forget about his real one. Only Narcissa Malfoy lifted a handful of dirt over her cousin's grave, whispering, "I miss you, Regulus." Then she let go of the muddy clump, grass and roots clinging to her hand for an instant before they fell to the black wood coffin. A flick of her wrist loosed the last plant, and the flower drifted softly to rest on the three handfuls of dirt in the grave: a soft, pale blue forget-me-not.


End file.
